By coupling humility with a sense of official distance, Washington carried himself with what could be called a reserved dignity.

RESERVED DIGNITY

George Washington had a commanding presence that left many with a sense of awe. Zall describes the impact he had on those who knew him or observed him: “Thomas Jefferson said that Washington hated the ceremony of the office but played up to the public’s expectations of it. John Adams called Washington ‘the best actor of presidency we have ever had.’²² In other words, being president called on one to act in a dignified manner—to Adams, George Washington played the part better than any-one. Abigail Adams marveled at the way he could balance the opposite and discordant ‘dignity that forbids familiarity’ with the ‘easy affinity which creates Love and Reverence.’ Even British observers wondered at this Socratic art of ‘concealing his own sentiments and of discovering those of other men.’”²³

His impact was felt even on those who did not like him or what he stood for. Zall explains: “Even cynics marveled at his bearing. His natural dignity defied description. Sir James Bland Burges saw him as ‘cold, reserved, and even phlegmatic without the least appearance of haughtiness or ill nature,’ with an odd compound of pride and ‘constitutional diffidence.’”²⁴

Washington was even concerned for a balance of humility and honor in his appearance. This is seen as he began to prepare a new American Army to defend the nation in the event of a French invasion in the aftermath of the French Revolution. When the then retired president was asked about his new uniform, he noted, in a letter to James McHenry on January 27, 1799:

On reconsidering the uniform for the Commander-in-Chief as it respects myself personally, I was against all embroidery.”²⁵ [Similarly, Washington wrote to his nephew and spoke about the dangers of vanity as seen in showing off expensive clothing:] “Do not conceive that fine clothes make fine men any more than fine feathers make fine birds. A plain genteel dress is more admired, and obtains more credit than lace and embroidery, in the Eyes of the judicious and sensible.²⁶

A spirit of humility had marked his life from early on. The agent who oversaw his business dealings in London in 1758 once incorrectly called him “ye Honorable.” Washington promptly corrected and clarified the potentially flattering bestowal of a prestigious title: “You are pleased to dub me with a title I have no pretensions to—that is, ye Honorable.”²⁷ Washington would not rest in mere words. If he was to be “ye honorable” his deeds, not words alone, would have to prove it so.

DEEDS, NOT WORDS

One of the best ways to interpret George Washington’s life is to understand his philosophy of “deeds, not words”. Nelly Custis, Washington’s adopted granddaughter, said, “His mottoes were, ‘Deeds, Not Words’; and ‘For God and My Country.’”²⁸ For example, he wrote Major General John Sullivan on December 15, 1779:

A slender acquaintance with the world must convince every man, that actions, not words, are the true criterion of the attachment of his friends, and that the most liberal professions of good will are very far from being the surest marks of it.²⁹

Washington wrote to Patrick Henry on January 15, 1799: “The views of men can only be known, or guessed at, by their words or actions.”³⁰ Accordingly, he utilized the power of symbolic actions. At the beginning of the Battle of Yorktown, he dug with his own hands into the soil of Yorktown to signify the start of the siege, and once both French and American cannons were in place, he fired the first round. He underscored his written orders by powerful and meaningful visible actions to inspire his men.

Thus, George Washington preferred to be known as a man of “deeds not words.” Writing to James Anderson on December 21, 1797, he explained,

If a person only sees, or directs from day to day what is to be done, business can never go on methodically or well, for in case of sickness, or the absence of the Director, delays must follow. System to all things is the soul of business. To deliberate maturely, and execute promptly is the way to conduct it to advantage. With me, it has always been a maxim, rather to let my designs appear from my works than by my expressions.³¹

Even the words of the motto found on the Washington family’s historic British Coat of Arms, “Exitus Acta Probat”, when translated from Latin means “The end proves the deed.”³² The Washington heritage emphasized actions rather than words.

We must interpret George Washington on his own terms. To insist that only his written words will give him meaning is to deny the very motivation of his own conduct—actions spoke louder than words. It is important for the debate we pursue in this book to underscore that Washington never declared himself to be a Deist, and he did declare himself to be a Christian. But, as critical as this is, Washington’s actions were intended to speak louder than his words. Accordingly, throughout this book, we will demonstrate his Christian worship, his Christian prayers, his other Christian actions, alongside the words of his writings that also reflect the presence of numerous Christian ideas.

Washington’s book plate bearing the family coat of arms, his motto, “the end proves the deed,” and a foreshadowing of the American Flag of stars and stripes

EXPERIENCES THAT TAUGHT WASHINGTON TO GUARD HIS WORDS

It may be that part of Washington’s reticence to express his own feelings is that he was “gun shy,” so to speak. Apparently, he had recklessly expressed his feelings as a young man, and these expressions came back to haunt him. Two incidents in the 1750s, in particular, come to mind. The first was a hasty signing of a poorly translated agreement of surrender with the French at Fort Necessity, by which Washington unwittingly and incorrectly admitted to having assassinated a French ambassador.³³

The second incident occurred in this same context. Compounding this misstep (or intentional French deception) during his surrender, Washington sent his brother a letter celebrating the delights of battle: “I heard Bullets whistle and believe me there was something charming in the sound.”³⁴ The French intercepted the letter and subsequently published it throughout the Western world. The remark, when eventually read by British King George II (father of George III), caused him to remark, “He would not say so, if he had been used to hear many.”³⁵ Twenty years later, in 1775, when someone asked if he had actually made that foolish statement, Washington answered, “If I said so, it was when I was young.”³⁶

Another reason for silence on personal matters was that letters in that day were unreliable and liable to miscarriage, interception, misuse and sometimes, such as in times of war, were even subject to being replaced with spurious letters. Washington was the target of spurious letters and on occasion had to refute them.³⁷ Along with the obvious reason of preserving their cherished privacy after a very public life, this may have been part of the reason Martha burned their letters after George’s death. At any rate, painful personal experiences seem to have helped seal Washington’s lips when he was tempted to speak of himself.

WISE ABOUT HISTORY; UNCONCERNED ABOUT LEGACY

Again and again, Washington showed himself to be more of a man of action than words. Yet the lessons of the past mattered to him. He wrote to Major General John Armstrong on March 26, 1781: “We ought not to look back, unless it is to derive useful lessons from past errors, and for the purpose of profiting by dear bought experience. To inveigh against things that are past and irremediable, is unpleasing; but to steer clear of the shelves and rocks we have struck upon, is the part of wisdom.”³⁸ But he did not want to talk about himself. In a letter to his lifelong personal friend and favorite physician, Dr. James Craik on March 25, 1784:

I will frankly declare to you, my dear doctor, that any memoirs of my life, distinct and unconnected with the general history of the war, would rather hurt my feelings than tickle my pride whilst I lived. I had rather glide gently down the stream of life, leaving it to posterity to think and say what they please of me, than by any act of mine to have vanity or ostentation imputed to me. I do not think vanity is a trait of my character.³⁹

In his past as well as in his future conduct, he strove to avoid vanity. In a letter to James Madison, written from Mount Vernon, May 20, 1792, he pointed out that given the existing political divisions, it would be best for the country for him to run for president again, but that he was not seeking reelection for vanity’s sake, but for the good of the nation. He hoped no one would misinterpret his motives:

Nothing short of conviction that my deriliction of the Chair of Government (if it should be the desire of the people to continue me in it) would involve the Country in serious disputes respecting the chief Magestrate, and the disagreeable consequences which might result there from in the floating, and divided opinions which seem to prevail at present, could, in any wise, induce me to relinquish the determination I have formed: and of this I do not see how any evidence can be obtained previous to the Election. My vanity, I am sure, is not of that cast as to allow me to view the subject in this light.

....In revolving this subject myself, my judgment has always been embarrassed. On the one hand, a previous declaration to retire, not only carries with it the appearance of vanity and self importance, but it may be construed into a manoeuvre to be invited to remain. And on the other hand, to say nothing, implys consent; or, at any rate, would leave the matter in doubt, and to decline afterwards might be deemed as bad, and uncandid.⁴⁰

When he wrestled with the question of becoming the president for the first time at Mount Vernon, one of his favorite military aids had been staying with the Washingtons. David Humphreys became the president’s confidant in those interesting days, and in his unfinished biography, he preserved some of the discussions that the two had about Washington’s pending history making decision. Out of this trust, Humphreys was given Washington’s go ahead to work on his biography, a project he never finished.⁴¹

HIS OFFICIAL BIOGRAPHY?

He also pointed out that he neither had the time—nor the literary skills—to write up a memoir about his war experience. Below is a comment he made in a letter to David Humphreys, the only man Washington would trust to write a biography of him, dated July 25, 1785:

If I had the talents for it, I have not leisure to turn my thoughts to Commentaries [on the Revolutionary War]. A consciousness of a defective education, and a certainty of the want of time, unfit me for such an undertaking.⁴²

Unfortunately, Humphreys did not finish the task before his death. Yet, of the several chapters he wrote, some of them have been found recently and have been used in our study of Washington.

Meanwhile, Washington perhaps had a little fear about even Humphreys’ undertaking such a task, because he did not want to be unduly praised. The retiring president wrote his French friend, Marquis de Chastellux:

Humphreys (who has been some weeks at Mount Vernon) confirm’d me in the sentiment by giving a most flattering account of the whole performance: he has also put into my hands the translation of that part in which you say such, and so many hand some things of me; that (altho’ no sceptic on ordinary occasions) I may perhaps be allowed to doubt whether your friendship and partiality have not, in this one instance, acquired an ascendency over your cooler judgment.⁴³

A significant aspect of this letter is Washington’s parenthetical aside: “altho’ no sceptic on ordinary occasions.” His temperament was not normally marked by doubt. Although not a skeptic, and thus not of a temperament that would dispose him to philosophical doubt and unbelief, this does not mean that Washington was a stoic who could not laugh or enjoy the humor of life.

SENSE OF HUMOR

George Washington is often portrayed as if he did not have a sense of humor but that too is inaccurate. As Zall says:

Just as credible, because evident also in his writings, Washington’s stony countenance could dissolve before “an unaffected sally of wit.” Congress excused its failure to provide funds because treasurer Robert Morris had his hands full. Washington replied that he wised Morris had his pockets full. When Mrs. Washington chided him for saying grace before dinner with a clergyman at the table, Washington pardoned himself: “The reverend gentleman will at least be assured that at Mount Vernon we are not entirely graceless.⁴⁴

And Zall writes further:

Natural versus contrived wit bubbles up in writing meant for his eyes only. . . .His diary has such entries as the one recording a Sunday service in York, Pennsylvania. The town lacked an Episcopalian preacher, so Washington attended a Pennsylvania Dutch Reformed church. Since the service was in German and he had understood not a word, he reassured the diary, he had not been converted.⁴⁵

Occasionally Washington even indulged in a bit of sarcasm in the privacy of his diary. He once commented on two sermons he heard while traveling, “I attended Morning & evening Service, and heard very lame discourses from a Mr. Pond.”⁴⁶ He also critiqued the meager refreshments and decorations of a ball in Alexandria. His diary dubbed it the “bread and butter ball.”⁴⁷ Zall notes another example of such sarcastic humor, this time aimed at himself:

Private correspondence also reveals the Washington wit. Former neighbor Eliza Power writes from Philadelphia that the desk he had left behind had a secret drawer containing love letters. He replied that if she had found warmth in those letters, she must have set them afire.⁴⁸

More than a century before Mark Twain quipped “the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” Washington noted that the word of his death was premature. After a battle during the French and Indian War, where Washington survived a massacre, he wrote his brother, John Augustine, July 18, 1755:

Dear Brother, As I have heard, since my arrival at this place, a circumstantial account of my death and dying speech, I take this early opportunity of contradicting the first, and of assuring you, that I have not as yet composed the latter.⁴⁹

Washington’s humor could express itself with playful parody of religious themes⁵⁰ or in simply giving a description of his daily life.⁵¹

DEEP PASSIONS UNDER DISCIPLINED CONTROL

Zall writes of an incident after the War where Washington allowed his normally well-concealed emotions to be visible to his brothers-in-arms. At the war’s end, he bid farewell to officers in New York. Impulsively, he embraced each one by rank, from rotund Henry Knox on down, while “tears of deep sensibility filled every eye.”⁵²

An emotional man at bottom, Washington, the seemingly frosty hero, was capable of the grand, dramatic gesture. His farewell to these officers, on December 4, 1783, at Fraunces’ Tavern in New York, was a scene out of a classic play. Standing before the men he had commanded for eight perilous and finally triumphant years, his customary self-control deserted him. Tears filled his eyes as he stood up, filled a glass with a shaking hand, and said in a trembling voice: “I cannot come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if you will each come and shake me by the hand.” Silently they lined up and shook his hand. Then he returned home to Mount Vernon, journeying through communities that moved him deeply with their outpourings of homage, determined to retire from public life. He had started his military career more than thirty years back, and now that he had won independence for his country the American Cincinnatus, as the newspapers and the orators called him, felt that he merited retirement to the plow. He was only fifty-one and, as he wrote to his friend Lafayette, his sole desire was to be a private citizen, sitting under his “own vine and fig-tree” and “move gently down the stream of life until I sleep with my fathers.”⁵³

The most open expression of Washington’s deep emotions appeared in his General Orders of April 18, 1783, when he publicly declared the ending of hostilities:

...Although the proclamation before alluded to, extends only to the prohibition of hostilities and not to the annunciation of a general peace, yet it must afford the most rational and sincere satisfaction to every benevolent mind, as it puts a period to a long and doubtful contest, stops the effusion of human blood, opens the prospect to a more splendid scene, and like another morning star, promises the approach of a brighter day than hath hitherto illuminated the Western Hemisphere; on such a happy day, a day which is the harbinger of Peace, a day which compleats the eighth year of the war, it would be ingratitude not to rejoice! it would be insensibility not to participate in the general felicity.